A SEAL's Seduction (6 page)

The man was perfect. How was that possible?

It wasn’t.

She settled in her chair, the brush of their knees sending sexual tingles up her thighs to tease her still-quivering flesh.

“Where are you from?” she asked after a few bites. She was suddenly aware that while she knew just how much pressure he liked when she stroked him, and how sucking on his tongue made him crazy, that was about the extent of her knowledge. “Are you a California boy?”

“No. I grew up in South Carolina, but now I’m more of a nomad.”

She waited. But that was it. He didn’t expand, he didn’t explain. He just scooped up another forkful of eggs.

What the hell?

“A nomad, hmm? Does that mean you’re just visiting, or will you be around awhile?”

He finished the last of his eggs, then gave her plate a questioning look. Alexia obediently forked up some of her own while he munched on toast.

“I’m here for a while,” he said. “I like the weather in Southern California.”

“And we have great beaches,” she said with a smile, remembering where they first met. And, she quivered a little, where they first made love.

He didn’t smile back, though. His gaze darkened, then shifted. As if someone had slammed the book shut. The pain she’d sensed in the bar was there again, radiating from him like a silent sob of misery.

They’d spent two days sharing their bodies. Surely he’d share this with her, too.

She wanted to ask him what was hurting him so deeply, why he was hiding from it. Before she could find the words, he gave her a wicked look, then reached one finger into the jelly bowl and scooped out a dollop of glistening orange sweetness.

“Taste?” he asked, offering her his finger. “Your neighbor said it’s plum. Made from her own trees.”

Beneath the amusement in his eyes was a challenge. Purely sexual, totally tempting. She couldn’t resist. Alexia leaned forward, sucking the tip of his finger into her mouth. Yum. The sticky sweetness had a tart edge. As she swirled her tongue around, licking all the way to the knuckle, his gaze deepened. Intensified.

“More?” he asked, his voice husky.

Power, unlike anything she’d ever felt before, filled Alexia. This man had had her six ways from Sunday. He’d climaxed more times than she was years old. And he’d done it on barely any sleep. Yet just the swipe of her tongue, and he was all hot and bothered.

Totally turned on.

She stood, arched both brows, then unbelted her robe.

All it took was a shrug for it to drop to the floor.

“Gorgeous,” Blake moaned in delight. He leaned forward to pull her onto his lap, but Alexia shook her head. Nope, it was her turn to call the shots.

“Strip,” she ordered.

He grinned. Then, proving he was all for equality among the sexes when it came to loveplay, he stood, and in a few quick moves, had that incredible body bared for her pleasure.

Alexia dipped her fingers into the jelly jar, then smoothed them over his lower lip. With a delicate swipe of her tongue, she licked it clean.

“Yum,” she told him.

He grinned, waiting to see what she’d taste next.

She swirled the sweet jelly around his nipples. Then she sucked them clean. They tightened gratifyingly, first one then the other, beneath her lips. She smoothed her other hand down his slender hips, over the rock-hard angles of his sexy butt.

She dipped her fingers in the jelly again, dropped to her knees and kissed her way down his belly. His body was a feast. Every inch delicious. And she wanted to taste him all.

“Nope,” he said with a strained laugh, grabbing her sticky fingers just before they could spread the breakfast preserve over his erection. “That’d get in the way of what I have planned next.”

“But I wanted to taste,” she said with a naughty smile. Her hand still in his, she leaned down to blow a soft puff of air on the glistening tip of his dick.

It jumped.

She slid a glance up at Blake, noting the hazy, almost-stupefied-with-wanting look on his face. Still, though, he didn’t release her hand.

So she tasted without jelly.

First with just her tongue, sipping gently at the tip of his dick. Then she slid it down the hard length, and back up. His fingers, wrapped around her wrist, trembled. She sucked the velvety rounded tip. Just the tip. He groaned out loud.

Before she could take his entire delicious length into her mouth, he used her wrist to pull her to her feet. Her breath shocked right out of her, Alexia gasped. Still holding her hand, he lifted the jelly-smeared finger to his mouth and licked it clean. Then he grabbed her by the waist, flipped her around and pressed her body between his and the table.

“You’re the most delicious woman in the world,” he murmured against the back of her neck, his lips moving along her shoulder in soft, wet kisses. Both hands reached around, cupping her breasts. Fingers tweaked, pulled, swirled the tips until they ached with pleasure. Her butt brushed his erection again and again as her hips undulated, desperate for release. Wanting more, and since his hands were busy, she pressed her own down between her thighs, preparing, readying herself for the delight she knew he’d give.

“Mine,” he protested, one of his hands sliding down to cover hers, twining their fingers together so they worked the aching swollen nub in concert.

Alexia moaned, heat swirling, passion building tight in her belly. Before she could climb too high, too fast, Blake bent her low over the table.

Her face nestled in her arms, she let him position her, lifting her hips for his entry. Even with proof so many times over of how big, strong and fabulous he felt inside, she still gasped with shock when, his hands braced on her hips, he plunged deep.

Her fingers dug into the tabletop, the wood cool and unyielding under her. Her hips shifted. Back, forth and back again, meeting his thrusts.

One hand still guiding her hips, he slid the other between her thighs, flicking his finger over the quivering bud there.

She cried out with pleasure.

He thrust again. Flicked once more.

Two strokes, then three. Her body exploded. Stars danced a wild boogie behind her closed eyelids as she gasped, moaning his name over and over. The orgasm rocked her, her body pressing tighter to the table, to his hips, as if she could somehow wring even more pleasure from the climax.

Her moves were all the encouragement he needed. Blake’s fingers dug into her hips, holding her still for his body. With a guttural moan, he plunged again, then once more. Then he groaned, loud and long. His thighs, so hard and strong, quivered against the back of hers.

Spent, totally empty, her body lay across the table as she tried to catch her breath. To find her thoughts. To remember her name.

“I have to go,” Blake murmured, his lips brushing her shoulder, making her shudder as yet another tiny orgasm rocked her body.

“No,” she protested. She wanted to lift her head, to roll over and grab on to him. But she didn’t have the strength. There was nothing left, he’d drained her dry.

She heard him move away but still couldn’t open her eyes.

“Look, I’ve got a thing tonight,” he told her. His voice was distant, as if he was trying to put space between them. A hint of panic flamed in her stomach. Before it could grow, he continued, “But I should be done by eleven, midnight at the latest. I’ll come back.”

Alexia’s lashes fluttered. She forced her head to turn so she could see him. She wanted to protest. To tell him to ask instead of inform.

She might even have plans.

Her brow furrowed.

Wait.

She did have plans.

“I’m busy tonight,” she realized, not sure which she wanted more. To exert herself, proving that this was a two-way street and she’d be calling just as many shots as he would. Or to grab on to an excuse to ditch the admiral’s retirement party and have another bout of mind-blowing sex.

“How busy?”

She sighed. She’d promised Michael she’d be there. And she’d promised herself that if she moved back, she’d make her best effort to get along with her parents.

“Very busy.” Pulling a face at having to climb off the cloud of sexual nirvana, she rolled to her side. Blake’s eyes heated to blue flames. “I’ve got a family thing going on.”

She only hesitated a second before adding, “But I can be back by midnight.”

He zipped his jeans, tucking his T-shirt in and giving her a long, contemplative look. As if he knew exactly what she was offering. Not just sex. Trust. A chance to see where this went. And, she admitted to herself with a sigh, rolling off the table, a boatload of expectations.

She could see the hesitation in his blue eyes. Knew he was weighing all that, probably against how fast he could hit the door. He stepped forward, sliding between her legs again and resting his hands on her bare waist.

Eyes open, staring into hers, he leaned down to meet her lips. Whisper soft, it was a promise, an acceptance. For the first time, his kiss didn’t make her think,
Let’s get naked.
It made her think,
Wow, there goes my heart.

“Midnight, then,” he said, kissing her one more time before striding to the door.

And just like that, she felt committed. She didn’t know anything about him other than his name, that he was incredible in bed and that she’d trust him with her life.

Trust. That was the biggie.

Other than Michael, had she ever trusted another man in her life? Growing up with an emotionally—and often physically—absent father who ruled everything on a need-to-know basis, and a mother who didn’t bother sharing important things like when or where they’d be moving next because she hadn’t wanted to hear the whining, Alexia tended to demand a lot of information from people. Maybe it made her a little bit of a control freak, but she liked to know everything she could, before she made decisions.

And here she was, with a man who hadn’t told her anything.

Alexia pressed her fingers to her lips, still sticky with plum jelly. The front door shut behind Blake.

“It’s a date,” she whispered to the empty room.

6

“C
HEERS
,
BUDDY
,”
Cade said, tilting his beer—in a glass, no tacky bottles at the admiral’s retirement party—against Blake’s. The sound was lost in the sea of well-modulated voices, yawn-worthy chamber music and the almost silent white noise of the air conditioner. “Gotta admit, the old guy has style.”

Blake shrugged. He’d grown up poor enough to appreciate that using a glass instead of the bottle gave the guy doing dishes a chance to earn a living. But other than that, opulence confused more than impressed him. What was the point? Rich people were more worried about showing off their fancy than guys were showing off the size of their...muscles.

He didn’t bother saying that to Cade, though. Compared to the Sullivans, Cade’s family, Admiral Pierce might as well move into the trailer park Blake had grown up in.

“What do you think he’s gonna do now that he’s retired?” Cade asked idly, his mellow tone at odds with the sharp intensity of his gaze as he scanned the crowd. “Put on one of those flowered shirts and putter in the garden?”

“I hope someone takes pictures,” Blake snorted. Then, after another drink, he shrugged. “He’s mentioned doing consults in D.C., maybe put together some programs here on the base.”

That was the great thing about Cade. No pissiness over Blake having an inside track with the admiral. Then again, Cade’s uncle was a senator and his father owned half of northern California. So he had plenty of inside tracks of his own.

“Why bother to retire, then?” Cade asked. “Retirement is supposed to be relaxing, isn’t it? Like R&R every day?”

Blake grimaced. That was way too much relaxing for him. Like this party, that kind of deal just wasn’t in his cards. He scanned the crowd again, looking for a waiter and another beer.

Unlike the poor civilian saps in tuxes, he and Cade, along with a bunch of bright shiny brass, got to wear their dress whites. It wasn’t fatigues, but close enough to keep him comfortable.

“Sir,” the waiter said with a little bow as he exchanged Blake’s empty glass for a full one.

He shifted his shoulders against the constricting fabric. At least he used to be comfortable. For the first time since he’d put it on, it felt as if his uniform didn’t fit right.

“What’s up?” Cade asked after exchanging his own glass. “You’ve been antsy as hell all night.”

“Just want to get out of here. This isn’t my kind of thing.”

“Dude, ya gotta party while the music’s playing.”

Cade’s grin disappeared as the words cleared his mouth. That’d been Phil’s favorite saying.

Blake stared into his own pilsner glass. They were trained for this. They went into every single mission knowing it wasn’t just a possibility, but a probability, that sooner or later one of them wouldn’t make it out. So what was with the emotional drama? When did it get easier?

“Landon, Sullivan, glad you could make it,” the admiral said in a big, hearty social voice. As opposed to the big, gruff commanding voice he usually used to bark out orders. There actually wasn’t a whole lot of difference in the two, except the slightly disturbing smile on his face.

“Congratulations on your retirement, sir,” Cade said. “The base won’t be the same without you.”

You had to hand it to him, Cade rocked this social bullshit. And the admiral ate it up with a spoon.

“I did my best to leave a strong mark,” he claimed before giving Blake an indulgent look that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “And I like to think I’m leaving behind a legacy. That my influence will carry on, if you know what I mean.”

“The mark of a great leader is the impact he leaves on his troops,” Cade agreed.

Blake didn’t have to look at him to know that beneath his social tone, his buddy was smirking.

“And speaking of legacies,” the admiral said, pulling on that social smile again, “Landon, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.”

“Sir?” Shit. He didn’t want to meet anyone.

“My daughter. A lovely young woman. Articulate, bright and gainfully employed. Top-security clearance, a solid portfolio, and being my daughter, she’s well versed in what’s required to support a military household.”

Obviously Pierce didn’t play matchmaker very often.

And Blake wished like hell he wasn’t doing it now. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what game the admiral was playing. The old guy liked Blake’s story. SEAL, linguist, decorated soldier triumphing over a pathetic childhood. The son-in-law ad practically wrote itself.

Except Blake wasn’t in the market.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Blake said. “I’d be happy to make your daughter’s acquaintance, but I won’t be asking her out. I’m seeing someone.”

It wasn’t until he saw the shock on his superior’s face that Blake realized this was the first time he’d said no. His shoulders twitched again. It wasn’t as if he’d refused an order, he told himself. All he’d done was sidestep the questionable honor of being dangled in front of the admiral’s daughter.

“Elliot, darling,” Mrs. Pierce said, giving Blake an apologetic smile before dismissing him with a tilt of her head. “It’s time for the toast.”

“Excellent,” Pierce said, arching his brow at Blake. “You’ll wait, of course. I’d like to finish this discussion.”

Blake almost saluted out of habit.

“I’m a soldier, not a lapdog,” he muttered instead as soon as the old guy was out of earshot.

“What’s the big deal? You meet his daughter, play nice, then skip out to hook up with that hot redhead again.”

Blake frowned.

“What? You didn’t think I could figure out why you’ve been mooning all night?” Cade laughed. “Dude, it’s practically written on your face. I’m surprised you can drink that beer with the hook stuck so tight in your lip.”

Like feeding jackals, denial was pointless. Besides, Blake shifted uncomfortably, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure that he wasn’t hooked good.

He was spared the need to think of a comeback thanks to a chiming crystal bell.

First time he’d ever been grateful for a speech.

The gratitude lasted about five minutes.

“I hate politics,” Blake decided under his breath, not for the first time.

“You want to get anywhere, get anything done, you play the game.” Cade shrugged as though it didn’t matter. But his lips twisted, a bitter indication that he, too, thought the game sucked.

Blake ignored the droning accolades, letting his mind wander back to Alexia. As soon as this toast was over—regardless of who the admiral wanted him to meet—he was outta there. He wanted to see her. To talk to her. To taste and touch and have her.

No surprise, really, since he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. Except the wanting to talk to part. That could probably be filed under shocking.

But as hot as things were between them, he knew she wasn’t going to be satisfied with just sex much longer. She’d already been pushing, hinting. He remembered the aggravation in her eyes that morning. She wanted more, and if he wanted her, he was going to have to pony up.

He shifted, his uniform suddenly tightening like a straitjacket. Sharing his past wasn’t an issue. Admitting his job? It was going to take a whole lot of charm to get her naked after he fessed up to being not only navy, but a SEAL, too.

He was pretty sure he had enough, though.

“Well, now...” Cade murmured, his grin wicked.

Blake followed his gaze.

He recognized the man first. Strawberry-blond hair fashionably tousled, alligator tuxedo lapels indicating not just custom, but way-out-there custom, and a ruby pinkie ring that glinted as he waved a friendly greeting to the crowd.

Michael?

What was he doing here? Was he a part of the entertainment? Blake wondered what he’d missed while he was obsessing over Alexia.

He watched the younger man reach out to assist someone onto the raised dais. His hand closed over slender fingers. It took an obvious tug to get the rest of the woman’s body to move. Despite his confusion, Blake grinned. Somebody didn’t like the spotlight.

Then, as people shifted, he saw who Michael was trying to drag onstage.

Her hair tumbled in loose curls over one bare shoulder, the red so deep it was almost black in places, so light it shone gold in others. Something black draped a tall, willowy body, the effect saved from elegance by the slender rose tattooed on her bare shoulder. The fabric was deceptively loose, but wrapped in a way that drew his eyes to the sweet curve of her breasts, the slender indention of her waist.

Breasts he’d tasted just hours before. A waist he’d gripped as he’d held her body over his, watching as she slid in a glorious rhythm, up and down his straining erection.

Alexia.

His sexy temptation.

His gaze shifted from her to the man of the hour, suddenly seeing the resemblance in the shape of their faces, the arch of their brows.

The tiny hairs on the back of his neck that warned of trouble stood on end.

Alexia was the admiral’s daughter?

Shit.

* * *

S
TANDING
ON
DISPLAY
, Alexia kept her expression neutral and her shoulders erect. She hated these things. Her mother was as social as the admiral was bossy, which meant growing up there had been four over-the-top fancy functions a year.

Since Margaret Pierce came from money—lots and lots of money—that meant the parties were not only boring, but super-upscale boring. The only upside was that events on this scale meant that other than assuring themselves their offspring were in attendance and properly behaved, the admiral and Mrs. Pierce were too busy to do anything but ignore them all night.

When it came to her parents, Alexia usually believed that being ignored was best. But she’d forgotten how hellishly boring it was.

“Hide the ennui,” Michael whispered. Thanks to her heels, he only had to lean sideways, so the exchange wasn’t that noticeable. Good thing, since their mother was a stickler for social protocol.

“I’m swimming in ennui,” she whispered back, her lips barely moving from their frozen smile.

Actually, she was swimming in anticipation. She glanced at the ornate grandfather clock on the landing and sighed. Only an hour till midnight. That meant a few boring speeches, a couple ostentatious odes to her father’s brilliance, and whatever pompous response he ended the toast with, and she could leave.

Go back to her place and wait for Blake.

She’d been so amped up after he’d left, she’d finally dug into the packing boxes. Sure, she’d opened the first one in search of her favorite teddy, a confection of black lace and red satin. But within a few hours, she’d turned her barren bedroom into a comfortable oasis. One she’d be happy to spend another two days of sexual ecstasy in.

The image of Blake popped into her mind, his eyes intense, his incredible body poised over hers. So delicious.

She sighed, a soft fog of sexual warmth wrapping around her as it always did when she pictured the two of them together.

She couldn’t wait to touch him again. To feel his body inside her. To taste the intense heat of his kisses. But first, before she let herself have any of that, the two of them would be sitting down for a little chat.

Because as wonderful as things were between them, she wasn’t having sex with a stranger again. And, despite the fact that she now knew his body as well as she did her own, facts were facts. Blake was an
emotional
stranger to her.

“Why isn’t Dr. Darling here to distract you?”

Guilt, sharp and cutting, sliced through Alexia’s sexual fog. She had no reason to feel bad. There was no commitment between her and Edward, either concrete or implicit. It was stupid to feel guilty. Just because she’d spent the previous couple of nights rolling around naked in the sand, surf and sheets with the hottest, sexiest, most passionate man she’d ever met instead of calling the guy who wanted her to be his one and only?

She winced. Nope. No reason for guilt.

Michael’s nudge reminded her that he was waiting for an answer. Since this probably wasn’t the right moment to share her emotional confusion, she shrugged and went for humor instead.

“Are you kidding? Bring a date to a family affair?” she whispered back in mock horror. “That’s never a good idea.”

“It’d help you decide if you want to take the relationship plunge, though,” Michael mused quietly. “What better way to see what a guy’s made of than let him go up against the old man? If he caves, you know he’s a wimp. If he cozies up, you know he’s an ass.”

Alexia shrugged. The only measure of her father she cared about was that any guy she was in a relationship with was nothing like the man who’d sired her. Other than that, she didn’t care how he acted around the admiral.

She was just about to ask Michael to run interference once the toast ended—so she could slide out the door—when she caught the steely disapproval in her mother’s stare. Alexia subtly nudged her brother, who straightened, too, both of them shifting their fake-smiling faces toward center ring as their father started speaking.

As the cadence shifted, winding down, she felt some of the tension seeping from her shoulders, out her fingers. They were in the end zone. She focused in on the words, listening to her father thank a laundry list of dignitaries, ranking officers and political cronies for their support of his career over the last four decades.

She leaned toward Michael.

“Think he’ll include us?” she whispered.

“Nah,” he whispered back. “The only time we come up in a speech is in terms of the challenges and struggles he’s had to overcome.”

“As soon as this is over, I’m outta here,” she muttered.

“Not so fast. Remember, we’re part of the receiving line. You have to stand and smile until everyone’s done worshipping—I mean, congratulating Dad. Besides, you should stick around.” Michael’s smile was pure delight. “I’ll bet your night improves.”

“I’m sure it will.”

Just as soon as she got out of here and called Blake. She surreptitiously glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner, noting it was already eleven-thirty.